


Nagron's Greatest Hits

by Blu_Ruin



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Gods of the Arena, Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Drabble, Elton John - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu_Ruin/pseuds/Blu_Ruin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of oneshots and drabbles inspired by lyrics of all the best Elton John songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Travelin' Tonight on a Plane

**Author's Note:**

> Agron misses Duro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Daniel. The song, not the Fury.

 

I still think about him every day.  Some are better than others, but there are still times when his absence is so sharp and fresh that I can barely haul my ass out of bed.  I’m usually okay, though, even if I still spend a stupid amount of time thinking about how Duro died.  It doesn’t help that I have to fly all the time.  Airports are the worst.   I have to fly every week or more for work, and I question my decision to take Duro’s place on the job every time I’m waiting in line to board.  Not because I’m scared, but because flying makes me think…about things. 

Duro was born four minutes before I was, smaller, darker, and silent.  They say he nearly died then.  But he didn’t, and we grew up hearing the story of how the doctor held him upside down by one ankle and slapped the skin between his shoulder blades until he started to cry.  Then he was passed off to a nurse, who tucked him in to wait on me.  I took over then, so the story goes, and we slept back to front until we were too big to share a cradle.  We shared a room growing up, even though we both had our own; but that worked out pretty well because when we were six Saxa came to live with us. 

Growing up, we did everything together.  And we looked out for each other.  Well, Duro didn’t look after me so much as he had my back, and was ready to talk me down whenever some bigoted mother fucker ran his mouth about the only ‘fag’ in whatever bar we happened to be in at the time.   The fact that I was gay always surprised people, even though it wasn’t a secret and never had been. 

We went to the same college, majored in physiotherapy, lived together off campus, and had never really been apart until we graduated.  Duro landed a job with the Pittsburgh Steelers, and I took a position at a sports medicine clinic in Boston.  Five years out of school and Duro had flown all over the country, and I was living with a sexy orthopedic surgeon from Syria.

Duro was going to layover in Boston so we could introduce him to Nasir’s friend Chadara, but he never made it.  The Lear jet he was taking crashed on takeoff and cartwheeled down the runway, breaking into three pieces and scattering luggage and bodies across the tarmac.   
The goddamn morgue wouldn’t even let us identify his body.  They used fucking dental records for all the crash victims.  The accident was so high profile and the Steelers press agents didn’t want any details leaked to the media.  So I punched the Steeler’s fucking publicist right in the mouth at the memorial service and thanked him for fucking up my one last chance to see my brother. 

I’m surprised the guy hired me after I knocked his two front teeth loose and cracked his nose.  But I have a kick ass resume, great experience, and I told him the team owed me and the least they could do was give me Duro’s job. 

Today, I’m flying commercial.  I’m coming off a long weekend in Boston, and meeting the team in Texas. While I’m waiting to board I’m not thinking about what could happen: bad weather, turbulence, pilot error, or dying.  I’m thinking of the last conversation I had with Duro, and laugh to myself, remembering how I promised that Chadara was a sure thing.  I try to just replay that phone call over in my mind, but the steward calls the four rows ahead of mine and it starts.  _Was he scared?  Did it hurt?  Did they even know what was happening?  Was it fast?_  I hope it was.  The steward calls rows D through G and I grab my carryon and get in line.   I cram my bag into the overhead compartment and fold myself into E2.  The guy behind me clears his throat.

“I think you’ve got my seat,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

”Sorry, I’ll move.”  _Stupid goat fucker._   I grin and consider using Duro’s favorite insult on the picky bastard.  But I don’t.  Instead I hold up the line of boarding passengers and fumble back out into the isle, so the idiot can have his fucking window seat.

Nasir asks me why I fly, why I even wanted Duro’s job.  I just shrug and tell him someone has to do it.  I think he suspects that I need to, because I’m still not ready to say goodbye.


	2. Hold Me Closer, Little Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasir and Agron share a mutual love of Elton, and some laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment was inspired by Tiny Dancer and Your Song, obviously.

Nasir heard the muffled music as soon as the elevator doors slid open.  He didn’t have to guess that it came from the apartment at the end of the hall; the one he shared with Agron.  He grinned as he trudged closer, biting down on his lip to keep from laughing while he dumped his armload of groceries in the floor so he could unlock the door.  He hoped he could sneak up on his boyfriend, which shouldn’t be hard to do with Elton John blasting from the speakers and Agron singing at the top of his lungs in the kitchen.

“ _Hold me cloooooserrrrrr Tony Daaaanza…count the headlights on the highway…lay me down on sheets of leather…I had a betttah day today…”_  Agron sang the wrong lyrics loudly, using a half-full bottle of beer as a microphone and pizza cutter to direct the imaginary orchestra in front of him.  He started on the second verse, but stopped abruptly when Nasir turned the volume down suddenly.

“You know you’re totally messing up the words, right?” He laughed, and started unpacking the groceries while Agron got him a beer.

“Yeah, I know, and I don’t fucking care.”  He pressed into Nasir from behind, kissing him on the neck and grinning against the warm skin there.  “Besides, you know I’d let Tony Danza hold me close any day.”

“Oh really?”  Nasir chuckled, squirming around until he was facing Agron and pinned between his hulking body and the counter.  “Well, don’t let me keep you from your sick daydreams,” he teased, trying to squeeze out of the tight spot Agron had him in.

“I don’t think so, little man,” Agron said, grinning.  “I’ll take you, since Tony’s nowhere to be found.” 

“Fuck you,” Nasir growled.  He hated the nickname, but he couldn’t help smiling, even when Agron forced both of Nasir’s hands around his neck and started moving to the slower rhythm of the next song.  “Are we seriously dancing to this?” Nasir asked as Elton told his audience how wonderful life was.

“It is pretty cliché, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”  Nasir let his head loll against Agron’s chest anyway, and reveled in the cliché-ness of dancing with his partner while Elton John played in the background.  He decided to take it a step further, and serenade Agron.

“ _Excuse me forgettin’…but these things I do…you see I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue…”_  He looked up at Agron, who rolled his obviously _green_ eyes, and continued.  “ _But you’ve got the sweetest thighs I’ve ever seen…”_

Agron threw back his head, laughing hard, and finally choked out, “Who’s singing the wrong words now?”


	3. Too Young to be Singin' the Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasir finds himself in a bad situation. Could two brothers and a vodka & tonic be his remedy? Inspired by Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

“Do you see that man over there?”  Ashur murmured, his mouth on Nasir’s ear and his fingers gently squeezing the base of the boy’s neck.  Nasir turned his face away from Ashur’s, toward whoever Ashur wanted him to see.  “He wants to meet you.” 

“He wants to meet _me_?”  Nasir tried to look toward his friend, but Ashur pressed his nose against Nasir’s temple. “Why?”  He couldn’t imagine why anyone at this party would want to meet _him_ ; especially the handsome, dreadlocked man across the room.

“He’s an agent and I told him you’re an actor…new in town, and…talented.” Ashur’s breath washed over Nasir’s skin and he shuddered. 

Nasir wasn’t sure about which talents Ashur was referring to: acting or something else.   Ashur had learned of Nasir’s talents early on, and seemed more than happy to get Nasir down on his knees, only to leave afterward and often bring a woman home later.  This left Nasir feeling confused and hurt, and spending too much time trying to figure out how Ashur really felt about him. 

“He wants to talk to me about acting?”  Nasir barely whispered.  An inkling of hope threatened to turn him into the giddy teenager that he was.  All he’d ever dreamed of was Broadway. 

“Of course, Habiibii,” Ashur purred.  “Now go.”  He swatted Nasir on the ass, sending him across the room toward the waiting man.

 

As it turned out, Barca had been interested in discussing Nasir’s acting, but only after they’d touched on some of Nasir’s more base abilities.  Nasir told himself it was what he had to do to get his name out there, and he couldn’t deny he’d enjoyed the night with Barca.  The man had been tender, and took his time with Nasir, making sure the boy enjoyed the experience as much as he had.  This only served to disappoint later, when Barca’s consideration didn’t appear to extend beyond the bedroom. 

Nasir moped when he didn’t hear from Barca – who promised casting calls – and after a few days, Ashur seemed to take notice and stepped in to pick up the pieces.

 

“There’s a party tonight,” Ashur said from behind where Nasir stood at the big picture window, staring out over the city.  “Come with me.”  It wasn’t a request and persuasive hands slid over Nasir’s hips, pulling his back flush against Ashur’s hard body. 

“I don’t feel like it.”  Nasir’s face heated up, and lust shot across his nerves.  He was embarrassed to be affected by Ashur like he was.

“Nasir.”  Ashur’s lips tickled, they were so close to Nasir’s neck. “You can’t give up because _one_ agent hasn’t sent you on any casting calls.  You have to work for it,” he insisted.  “No one becomes a star overnight.”

 

Coincidentally there was another talent agent at the party, who Ashur insisted was game to meet Nasir.  But Solonius wasn’t as kind as Barca had been, and left Nasir sore and bruised, but promised to pull some strings and find Nasir an audition or two.   Nasir told himself this was just part of the profession he hadn’t anticipated, and that no one talked about.  He felt deflated, and missed his family in Maine.  Then Barca finally came through, sending him on a call for a small part in an off Broadway show.  Nasir nailed the audition, his hope was renewed, and Ashur took him out on the town to celebrate.

 

Everywhere they went, doors opened and velvet ropes parted for Ashur.  He was powerful and handsome, and could go where he pleased.  At dinner, when Nasir asked about the absence of prices on the menu, Ashur just smiled, telling Nasir to, “relax,” and order what he wanted.   The server kept his wine glass full – without bothering to check his ID – and by the end of the meal, Nasir’s body hummed with a pleasant warmth that loosened his tongue and lowed his inhibitions. 

When Nasir climbed into the backseat of Ashur’s sedan after dinner, he slid across the smooth leather to press himself against the other man.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the collar of Ashur’s starched shirt.  He rubbed his nose across the warm skin above the stiff fabric.  “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t met you.”  Ashur exhaled, and Nasir recognized the change in his breathing and drug his lips over Ashur’s neck.  “What can I do?” Nasir whispered.  “To thank you.”

Ashur answered him by moving Nasir’s hand to his fly.  The boy kissed Ashur’s neck and laughed.

“Here?  Now?” 

Ashur nodded, and Nasir slid to his knees in the backseat of the car.

Nasir was finished with Ashur by the time they pulled along the sidewalk in front of the nightclub Ashur owned.

“Let’s not go in,” Nasir suggested, climbing from the floorboards and into Ashur’s lap.  “Let’s go home.”  He buried his face in Ashur’s neck, and couldn’t help rocking his hips so Ashur could feel what he did to Nasir.  “Please.”  He wasn’t sure why Ashur hadn’t fucked him yet, but he was going crazy waiting.

“Really Nasir.”  Ashur laughed cruelly and lifted the boy off his lap, sliding away and dumping Nasir into the empty space beside him.  “I have a late…meeting.  Here.” He pressed a card into Nasir’s hand.  “Take this and have fun.  Give it to the bartender and she’ll take care of you.   Do what you want, and when you’re ready to come home, have Gannicus call a cab.”  He leaned forward, nodding towards the blond man standing post at the door of the club.

 “Go,” Ashur ordered, reaching over Nasir to open the door when he didn’t move to do it himself.  “If you get back to the apartment before I do, don’t wait up,” he instructed as Nasir stepped onto the sidewalk.  Then he shut the door, and the car wheeled away from the curb, leaving Nasir alone and disappointed.  
Nasir decided he didn’t want to go into Ashur’s club after all.  He had fifty dollars in his pocket and could go where he wanted.  He glanced at Gannicus, who was flirting with some young looking girls and didn’t seem to notice that his boss’ car had just deposited a runaway on the sidewalk.   Nasir’s back was to the road and he looked to his left and right, then at Gannicus again.  The man finally noticed him, which startled Nasir.  He stepped backward off the curb and stumbled before recovering, and jogged across the street, glad to put some distance between himself and Ashur’s bouncer.

Nasir didn’t look back once he was on the other side of the street, nor did he think about where his worn out Chucks were taking him.  He walked with his head down, hands shoved in the pockets of the leather jacket Ashur bought him, only pausing when he came to intersections.  He allowed himself to think, which was both good and bad.  Nasir missed his parents, and had wanted to call them when he landed the tiny roll in an original Blue Angel Theater production, but he wasn’t sure what exactly to say to them, and he didn’t know how he would explain his current lifestyle.  What was he doing with Ashur?  And what about the slew of agents, managers, and business associates Ashur had thrown his way?  Nasir had found himself in bed or some sort of compromising situation with every one of them.  Not to mention they were all men, and Nasir’s family had no clue about their son’s sexuality; which was part of the reason he’d left home in the first place.  He was so lost in thought, he almost didn’t notice the two tall men who veered into his path in order to enter the corner pub he was passing.  Nasir tried to correct himself, but his shoulder clipped the elbow of the smaller man, and he was sent stumbling again.  He tried to pull his hands from his pockets to catch himself, but other larger hands caught him instead and hauled him upright.

“Whoa there, little dude,” the man chuckled, gripping the lapels of Nasir’s jacket to further steady him.  “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Nasir muttered, looking up at the man who caught him for the first time.  “I…I just…I was…” Nasir stuttered, and was further distracted when the scruffy face broke into a dimpled grin.  He had to look away, toward the smaller man who was just as handsome.  _Damn._  

“Are you sure you’re ok?” the man asked. 

“Uh…yeah.  Sorry.  Tonight’s been shit.  I shoulda been paying attention to where I was going.”

“It was my idiot brother’s fault,” the dark-haired man interjected.  “He decided at the last minute that we should go to _this_ bar instead of the one over there.”  He inclined his head toward dark windows across the street, lit only by dim interior lights and neon signs.

“Yeah,” the taller man agreed.  “I’m a big, dumb fuck.  Let me buy you a drink to apologize.  Looks like you could use one.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Nasir stuttered, looking down.  He glanced at the scuffed toes of his shoes, then back to the stranger’s face.  He was good looking and grinning like a fool, and Nasir decided he couldn’t be dangerous with a smile like that.

“C’mon,” the smaller man urged.  “We’re not murderers, honest.  I’m a cop, and this goat fuck is a physical therapist.  We’re harmless.  Besides, it’s not every day that bastard offers to buy _anyone_ a drink.”

“Ok.”  Nasir might have laughed at the exchange between the brothers, but he was suddenly nervous, knowing how Ashur felt about the police. 

“Great,” the brothers said in unison, and the bigger one punched the other on the shoulder.  “Shut the fuck up, pig,” he laughed, strutting ahead to open the door. 

The place was quiet for a Saturday night, Nasir guessed, and they three of them easily found seats along the gleaming bar, with Nasir between the brothers.  The bartender came to take their drink orders and to joke with the brothers, but Nasir was too lost in his own thoughts again to really hear what was said.  He came back to the present when the dimpled one elbowed him.

“What’rya drinkin’, little dude,” he prodded.

“Um…vodka and tonic.”  Nasir heard Ashur order that hundreds of times, and figured it must be a very sophisticated drink. 

It didn’t taste quite like Nasir thought it would, and he had a little trouble keeping his face straight after he took the first sip.  If the brothers noticed his wince, they didn’t let on.  Maybe because they were both too busy peppering him with questions.  Nasir had never been around two men who talked as much as they did. 

The next sip went down a little easier, and the third easier than the first two, and by the time he’d halfway drained the glass he found himself opening up to the brothers.  He told them everything.  How he ran away to the city to make it as an actor, but he’d met Ashur instead who’d taken Nasir under his wing.  Then came the men.  Nasir didn’t go into detail, only saying he ‘did things’ in order to be considered for parts or casting calls, and sometimes just to help Ashur close a deal, but none of it seemed to get him anywhere.   Besides into another bed. 

He felt better when he finished his tale, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the vodka or the weight lifted from his shoulders.  Nasir expected the conversations to pick up where it left off, but both brothers were silent as he took the last sip of his vodka, and he began to think he’d said too much.

“You have to let us help you,” the dark-haired brother said. 

“But I don’t know you,” Nasir mumbled.  “I don’t even know your names.”

“Fuck if you know us,” the taller one blurted.  “You need help!”

“But…”

“I’m Agron.”  Nasir was cut off, and a large hand was thrust in his face.  He slowly put his palm against the other man’s, who pumped their joined hands.  “And this fuck face is Duro.  We’re going to help you get this shit straightened out.”


	4. She's Electric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasir tries to wake Agron with song. Inspired by Bennie and the Jets.

“Agron.”  Nasir gently nudged his sleeping boyfriend.   “Wake up.  I promised Mira we’d come see her show tonight.”

“Mehhh…”  Agron groaned and swatted Nasir’s hand away, turning his face into the sofa cushions in attempt to hide.

“C’mooooon…we promised.” 

“Go ‘way!”

“But you’ll liiiiike it,” Nasir sang.  “Cause she’s got electric boobs, and mohair shoes…you know I read it in a magazine…”

“Oh god,” Agron muttered, pulling the blanket over his head to block out the noise.


End file.
